Never Again
by Constantlyconsciouslyaware13
Summary: Majandra Damar is searching for something, and the trail leads straight to Neverwinter. What she finds there, the people she encounters, lives she takes, and eventual romance of a lifetime will change the face of the North forever. Neverwinter OC, twisted
1. On a Dark, Stormy Night

**Disclaimer:** This counts for the whole rest of the fic, as I don't feel like writing these headings anymore: I DON'T OWN FORGOTTEN REALMS. I only own those characters that obviously belong to me, the actual CDs containing the OC and expansions, and the premise for the storyline.

**Author's Note:** So this is the third time I've written chapter one, and I think this is the best I've come up with yet. For now, I'm rewriting the whole story, and recommend that you read what I've got on a chapter-by-chapter basis. Thanks!

Kaia Moonchild

_**Prologue…**_

_The tale I'm about to recount, dear reader, is one not for the faint of heart, or those of feeble or small mind. It's been centuries, eons, ages, lifetimes since the events that took place in and around the city of Neverwinter; events in which I played a great, and yet overlooked and underappreciated role beside the celebrated heroes of that age, Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande, Aarin Gend the Spymaster, Paladin of Lathander Kaerion Galadorn, and Lord Nasher Alagondar, Ruler of Neverwinter. _

_And yet, listener, I do not begrudge my former companions their glory in the tales and legends spun by bards and recorded by lore masters. No, they can keep their places of honor in the annals of history; I have no desire nor need to join them. The day my heart died, froze in my chest for what I felt would be an eternity, was the day I knew I would step back from the limelight._

_And yet, that is neither here nor there. Are you ready to hear my tale, inquisitive soul? Are you ready to learn the true fate of the Ever Summer, Never Winter, city of the North? To learn of the single event that's effects spiraled onwards for centuries? Well then, by all means, pour yourself a tankard of ale and settle yourself to hear the story of the Fall of Neverwinter… (Yes, Neverwinter falls )_

_**Lion's Head Inn, Twenty-Four Leagues from Neverwinter**_

Lying upon one of the more well traveled roadways in Faerûn is an invitation to the weird, the odd, and the completely random, as most of the more experienced innkeepers know. Simply having an inn on the wayside runs the risk strange customers, something that Brent Nalan, Innkeeper of the Lion's Head, had never actually experienced himself. Well, as they say, there's always a first time for everything…

_**Crash!**_ The low undertone of conversation in the common room cut off abruptly as the oaken door swung open under the gale force winds raging outside. A heavily cloaked figure staggered into the room, dripping wet from the rains.

"Excuse me!" the portly (I know, innkeepers can be thin too, just not in forgotten realms shrug) innkeeper came out from behind his lectern, idly wiping an empty glass with his spotless apron. "Yer dripping' all over my floors, sir! Here, let me take yer coat and sit ye down by the fire, then."

"Don't touch me." The ears of the men sitting at their tables perked up at the sound of the distinctly feminine voice emitted from beneath the deep hood, while their counterparts' eyes narrowed in distrust.

"Eh, sorry abou' that, miss," the innkeeper stuttered, bowing jerkily as the woman swept past him with eerie grace. "Here," he hurried past her and pulled a sturdy chair closer to the roaring fireplace at the back of the room. "Have a seat, ma'am."

"Thank you." Her voice was low and throaty, almost as if from disuse or past injury. A pale, thin hand emerged from the veritable cocoon of cloth to press a heavy gold coin into his pudgy hand. "A meal," she continued, "and some warm mead, if you will."

"Of course," the man bowed again and scurried away, answering the maids' questioning glances with a confused one of his own. Just who was this woman?!

The woman in question quietly thanked the serving girl who promptly delivered a steaming plate of meat and potatoes to the tiny table by her side, and then took a deep draught of mead.

_Alcohol and meat? My, my, aren't we being adventurous. I'm looking forward to a repeat of last time, you know. All that bloodshed was….delightful._ A passing cleaning girl jumped and squeaked as the mysterious woman uttered an audible, animalistic growl

"Shut up," she hissed aloud, knuckles whitening as her grip tightened around the tankard of sharp liquid. "I don't have to listen to you anymore, not since we left Sigil, so let me be!" she defiantly tossed back another gulp of mead, enjoying the burning sensation as the liquid streamed down her throat to warm her body.

_You thought I'd suddenly disappear upon arrival in the Prime Material Plane?_ The voice scoffed, sending another flash of pain through her head. _Foolish girl, you know you'll never be able to get rid of me or what I represent! The chaos and bloodshed of the battlefield calls out to your soul, child of darkness! You know it to be true…_

"Shut up," she muttered again, weaker this time. "Please, just leave me alone!" The voice in her head, once a silent companion, had haunted her thoughts and dreams ever since she set foot up Toril's soil, a constant commentator on everything she encountered.

All around her, curious and distrustful customers were whispering and speculating about the woman seemingly talking to herself as she stared into her blurred reflection in a tankard. One man, surely deep into his cups, decided he was brave enough to approach the cloaked woman, and most likely seduce her into his bed. Such, is drunken logic…

The voice had actually stopped upon her last request, something the woman was ever grateful for as she moved to start her still-warm meal. Wrinkling her nose at the slices of formerly alive animal, the woman moved them to the far side of her plate and set upon the steaming potatoes covered in cheese and spices.

As she chewed, she eyed the meat seemingly mocking her from the side of the plate. Ever since "That", she hadn't so much as touched a piece of meat. Just the smell of it caused her stomach to turn, yet she didn't care enough to call one of those skittish maids over to remove the offending entrees.

Pain flared in her head as the voice made another appearance, whispering a stream of pure violence that made her eyes burn to think about. _Oh look,_ it continued, breaking off its detailed recitation of one of her darker moments to comment about the complete silence in the common room. _Seems as though the fun is about to start. Don't disappoint me, girl…_

"'Scuse me, Miss," a heavy, uncoordinated hand flopped down on her shoulder, causing her arm to jerk and send mead seeping down her robes. "Oh, eheh, sorry 'bout tha'. I'm Toram Nils, Miller by occupation and lover by vocation." He grinned widely as he bent over where he assumed her face would be. "Tonight would be yer lucky night, m'gal!"

There was an intense hush as the woman turned her head to him and said in a cold voice. "Go away."

The man's friends at the bar roared in laughter at the blunt rejection, spurring their fellow on with catcalls and crude jokes concerning his manhood. "Oi," he ran around so he was in front of her view of the fire and placed his hands on her upper arms. "That's not the answer I was lookin' for, lassie. Let's try this again. Me and you, my room, now." Smirking, he began to rise with her still in his grasp.

"Don't. Touch. Me." The woman growled as she flexed, shocking the man as she broke free of his grip and stood at her full height, a good three inches taller than his own. He quailed as, deep within her hood, a pair of crimson orbs began to burn in anger, piercing his heart with fear.

"Come on boys!" he shouted as he attempted to grab her again. "She's but one woman! We can take care of her together and split her all ways!"

The woman stiffened, though whether in fear or anger the men will never know, as he made his plans perfectly clear with the lecherous expression on his pock marked face. Dark memories of the past surged to the fore; sparking a rage greater than anything the aged common room had ever seen.

As Toram set his hands upon her again, her restraint broke, and a feral roar boiled up from within. She felt a presence at her back and immediately lashed out with a clawed fist, catching the man behind her directly in the chest and sending him flying backwards into a table full of people. She was caught unawares by a man coming up on her left, staggering to the side from the blow to her head.

_Where is the innkeeper?_ She thought as she ducked another wild blow from a drunkard. _Why isn't anyone aiding me? I could be raped by these men -indeed that is their intent!- and no one wishes to lend a hand?_ She landed a punishing kick below the waist to her current enemy, sending him to the ground with a girlish squeak. _Was I wrong to journey here? Would it have been better to simply stay where I was?_ She felt more than saw the knife flash towards her side, but couldn't engage the armed man in time to deflect the strike. Pain exploded in her side, and she swayed a bit before being pushed up against the wall by Toram.

"Looks like yer not so tough now, missie!" he snarled as his friends took her from his hands and held her up, using his left hand to unbuckle his belt. "Yer gonna like this, and ye ain't gonna complain, got it!"

_No, no, no, no, no, NO!_ She screamed in her head as she struggled weakly to free herself. Where were her powers, her abilities, her wings? Why had they disappeared upon arrival in Faerûn?

_Hmm,_ the voice in her head said thoughtfully, ignoring her frantic pleas for help as a rough, paw-like hand fiddled with the catch to her pants. _This predicament you've gotten yourself into looks rather familiar, don't you think? Whatever shall you do?_

"Help!" she whispered weakly, fighting against the grips on her arms as Toram dropped her pants and leaned into her. "Please, Rekkei, help me!"

_Very well, Majandra. Very well._ And the world behind her eyes burst into crimson flames.

Toram was seconds away from entering his new conquest when he felt a hand gently grip his member. "Here," the woman murmured, voice low with husky warmth. "Let me."

"Yeah, now that's what I'm talking about!" he groaned as he felt her stroke him gently. "Come on, baby, lemme in!"

In a split second, the sensation changed from pleasure to pain, and Toram could only whimper as she brought him up to face her. "You made the gravest mistake of your life, human," She crooned in a feathery voice, tightening her grip. "Now, you shall pay threefold for it!" in a quick movement, the woman ripped the offending member clear off and shoved it down the man's throat, freeing herself from his shocked companions by tearing their arms from their sockets and crushing their windpipes all in one motion. The heavy cloak shielding her from sight seemingly melted from her body, revealing a being no one in the room had ever hoped to see.

"W-what are you?" Brent Nalan demanded weakly at the woman standing before him, eyes shielded by a fall of blue-black hair that ended at her waist. Embedded in that thick hair, to all's surprise, were a set of black, twisted horns. Black leather and chains covered the pale woman's lithe body, offering protection and cover from weapons and yet little from the elements. A tail swayed sensuously around her calves, razor sharp tip scratching on the floor with a metallic sound, and tiny, claws stained red already with blood protruded from her first set of knuckles. Strapped to her waist were two blades, both eastern by origin, and across her back was what appeared to be a pole arm, each blade flickering with it's own eerie magical energy.

She raised her face, and the innkeeper felt his heart die in his chest from the features of the cruel beauty before him. Her heritage was elven down to the pointed ears emerging from her locks, yet it was her eyes that sapped the courage from the man. Crimson cat's-eyes filled with anger and hate glared pure death in his direction, and it was all he could do not to soil himself.

Giggling madly inside at the cliché response, the woman displayed her set of fangs in an insane grin and replied, "Your worst nightmare." And so the screams began in earnest.

**THIS IS A BORDER THIS IS A BORDER THIS IS A BORDER THIS IS A**

When Majandra came to, she was lying in a lake of blood, nearly smothered by the rain soaked garment shielding her from the elements. Groaning in pain, she pulled herself to her feet, hand clasped tightly over her wound, and took a look at the nightmare she'd woken up in.

Broken, bleeding bodies lay scattered haphazardly amongst the burned wreckage of the Lion's Head Inn, the driving rains and winds giving them the semblance of life as hair and eyelids twitched in the breeze. The smell of burning meat suffused the air, and it was all she could do not to vomit up her dinner of not an hour past.

"Rekkei," she whispered aloud, golden eyes wide in horror at the sight of so much death. "What- why did you do this?" she was covered head to toe in blood, only a portion of which actually her own.

_You asked for my aid knowing full well what it entails, half-breed._ Rekkei's voice was laced with scorn, dark joy, and a kind of insanity that Majandra was only too accustomed to. _What did you think I would do to those bastards, send them home with a spanking? No, they needed to learn a lesson for touching us!_

"But," Majandra paused and shook her head. "No matter," ignoring the sharp pain in her side, she took one, and then another unsteady step in the direction of the stables that had been at the back of the end. Surely Rekkei hadn't burned that as well, and there would be at least one horse remaining!

It appeared the gods were smiling down on Majandra, or at least ignoring her for the moment, because indeed there was a sturdy black still in his stall. "Hello, beautiful," She murmured under her breath as she hobbled towards the stallion, careful to keep downwind of his sensitive nose. "I wish you no harm," she paused to choose a name. "Vanwa." Vanwa meant 'lost' in the tongue of her father, and accurately reflected how she was feeling now.

She gritted her teeth against the pain as she lifted a set of tack from the wall and hoisted it over Vanwa's broad back, breath hissing out as she bent over to tighten the catches on his belly. She took a moment to steady herself, and then swung onto the stallions back. A scream tore from her throat as her tender wound broke open again, causing her to sway forward to lean against Vanwa's strong neck.

"Neverwinter." She mumbled, kicking Vanwa out of the stables and into the night as her vision darkened. "Take me to Neverwinter."

_**Halls of Justice, Temple of Tyr**_

In the highest tower in the temple of Tyr, a single light burned long into the night. Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande, Lady Paladin of Tyr, sat at a desk surrounded by balls of crumpled paper, pausing in her writing once more to crumple up her current disaster and hurl it against the mirror before her. She couldn't concentrate; even this high up, the screams of the dying reached her sensitive elven ears.

"I need to take better care of myself," she murmured aloud as she gazed at her reflection. She hadn't slept soundly, or even more than 16 hours a week, since receiving reports of the plague that wracked her beloved city. Her auburn hair hung loosely around her shoulders, scraggly and in serious need of brushing before her expected appearance at dawn. Her eyes, a sharp green, had lost all their spark, resting in the shadowed hollows of her face. Even her sharply pointed ears appeared to wilt a little!

With a sigh, Aribeth took out a new sheet of parchment and set her quill to the top. Tomorrow was the grand opening of the Neverwinter Academy for Adventurers. She had been the one to suggest the school to Lord Nasher, and so it was upon her that the success of the venture relied.

She had already recruited teachers, and many men and women from the city and surrounding countryside had flooded in to join the ranks, yet she knew that one more person was required to make it a success. A leader was needed. Someone who could lead the students, none of which were real fighters by trade, and be an example of all they were trying to accomplish. She needed a hero, and she knew exactly who would be able to carry out his duties to the greatest extent of his abilities.

_My Lord Kaerion Galadorn,_ she paused, carefully considering how she would proceed. She had decided against using the formal template for such an important letter, but how informal was too informal? _I do not know if you have received news of Neverwinter's plight wherever you are, but I must inform you that we are nearly at our last gasps. Why do I tell you this, you wonder? It was my honor to attend your knighting ceremony five years ago in Silverymooon, and you were the first person that came to mind for this request. An Academy of Adventurers has been created here in Neverwinter in hopes that a person will come that will be able to aid us in curing this plague and reviving our dying city. Will you be this person, master knight? Will you be our hero? If you choose to aid us, come with all haste to the city. We have been quarantined, but showing this letter of invitation will get you through the gates. Please, Kaerion,_ Aribeth stopped, staring at what she'd just written. She'd never thought it would ever come to this, begging foreign paladins, not even those of Tyr, for help. Another sigh, and she quickly finished up the note, sealing it in an envelope with her seal waxed to the side.

Just as she was about to summon one of the messenger birds to her office, someone knocked on the oaken door. "Come in!" she called, hiding the letter underneath some books. She didn't know why she felt the need to hide, but she knew something more than the plague was wrong with Neverwinter.

"What are you doing still awake, my love?" her fiancé, Fenthick Moss, Cleric of Tyr, entered the door with his usual quiet manner, calming her racing heart and bringing a bit of warmth back into her eyes.

"Writing letters," Aribeth smiled and rose, crossing the room to fall into the lean elf's open arms. She felt him nuzzle her head lightly, and tilted her head back for a kiss. Instead of her lips, Fenthick kissed her cheek and then pulled back a bit.

"I think I deserve something better than that!" Aribeth said coyly, pulling the man closer to her even as sorrow and confusion wracked her heart.

_Why is he like this?_ She thought as they shared another cold kiss. Something had changed in their relationship at the onset of the plague, and Fenthick was no longer as warm or loving as he had been before. Oh, she knew he loved her as much as she loved him, but there was a measure of resistance in his actions whenever they were together, almost as if making love to her were a chore or duty.

When they broke off, Fenthick released her from his arms and immediately bent down to recover one of the paper balls rolling on the floor, unraveling it and reading it without a word. "Kaerion Galadorn?" his eyebrows rose upon reading the name. "Isn't that the lad who gained his knighthood at eighteen? Why would he be an asset to your academy?"

Aribeth winced inwardly at the hint of scorn she heard in his voice when he mentioned the school. "I believe he has what it takes to be a true hero," she replied finally, crossing her arms and moving back to gain more room. All of a sudden, she really didn't feel like being near her fiancé. "He'll inspire the other students without arrogantly lording over them, help them without embarrassing them, and lead them honorably."

"Sounds like you want him more as a teacher than as a student to me," Fenthick grumbled as he stretched out on the cot she'd had installed in her office, not even kicking his boots off first.

Aribeth watched all this and said not a word. _This_ was the Fenthick the public never got to see: the slothful, lazy, arrogant, hateful man that only showed himself to the woman who loved him most. Whenever they were in public, they were the perfect couple. The honorable, kind-hearted cleric destined to become High Priest of Tyr, and his beautiful wife to be, the most powerful Paladin of Tyr ever to grace his church and avatar of justice herself.

"Perhaps," Aribeth replied finally, seating herself at her desk once more. "But regardless, he would be an asset to the establishment.

Fenthick simply shrugged and got back to his feet. "Let's go to bed," he stated, holding out an arm for her to take. "You have the inauguration of the academy tomorrow, and I won't have you looking like a plague-ridden commoner out there."

Aribeth smiled weakly at the backwards compliment and grasped his arm, allowing him to lead her out of the study. Her gaze lingered on the pile of books concealing the finished letter and she sighed inside. She'd just have to send it when she finished her duties tomorrow.

Just as she was about to start down the stairs leading to the temple proper, a vision of such magnitude hit her and she staggered against Fenthick, holding her head as images pounded into her skull.

_"Neverwinter,"_ the words echoed in her head even as the images faded. _"Take me to Neverwinter."_

"Aribeth? Aribeth!" it took her a moment to orient herself enough to realize Fenthick had been calling her name for the past couple minutes. "Aribeth, are you alright?"

"Yes," Aribeth replied slowly, eyes still unfocused as she stared at whatever it was she had seen. "Yes, I'm fine." Fenthick shrugged and continued on, careful to place a cheerful expression on his face as they entered the main temple.

Aribeth couldn't make the effort though, and remained lost in thought. _Something is coming,_ she could feel a presence moving through the dark countryside, coming ever closer to the city by the second. _Something that will either aid us, or be party to our destruction._ Shaking her head, she fixed a serene expression to her face and allowed her fiancé to lead her to their shared chambers. Now wasn't the time to muse on what will be. Now, it was time to sleep.

**Author's Note:** Go to chapter two! Or drop a review


	2. Will You Be the One?

**Author's Note: ** Winces…. Yeah, I know, it's been a long, long, long… LONG AS HELL time, and I'm sorry, but you know how it is. School, life, life, school…. School… anyways, here is the second re-written chapter, and the third should be up soon, followed by the fourth. To my reviewers, thanks so much! To new readers, well, hope you enjoy!

Kaia Moonchild

_**Road to Neverwinter…**_

Vanwa proved to be a stallion among stallions, Majandra discovered as she swung in and out of consciousness during the long, wet ride from the ruins of the Lion's Head to Neverwinter.

"Stay strong for me, Vanwa," She murmured as the black continued his steady pace towards the distant city lights, each jarring step sending bolts of pain through her body. "We're nearly there, my friend. Nearly there…" her words trailed off as she swayed forward in a swoon, head spinning from blood loss. In the hours since leaving the wreckage of the inn, the knife wound had sealed over, but threatened to reopen with every second, or so the trickle of warmth down her side told her. Any lesser creature would have perished under the strain of remaining on a horse during a hurricane, but not many beings had the strength or determination of the Fey'ri.

_Nine thousand ninety heads on dead corpses, Nine thousand ninety heads!_ Rekkei sang insanely in the back of her head, projecting images of the horrifying Blood Wars into Majandra's consciousness. The off tune, off color words caused bile to rise up in her throat. _I cut one off, play a round of golf, Nine thousand eighty-nine heads on dead corpses!_

"Shut up, Rekkei!" Majandra squeezed her head between her hands, trying desperately to shut out things she didn't want to remember. It had only been a few weeks since she'd escaped her cruel mistress in Sigil, but that wasn't even a hundredth of the time needed to comes to terms with the centuries of insanity spent serving in the Blood Wars. "Just, leave me alone!" Vanwa's ears pricked at the sound of her voice, and he whickered gently, almost as though he were trying to soothe his rider.

_Don't you like my song?_ Rekkei replied in a whiny voice that sent shards of pain into Majandra's brain. _I'm boooored! Why can't we kill something? Come on, Maggie, you know you want to!_

"I'm not like you!" Majandra snarled, baring her fangs and unsheathing the claws on her hands. "I don't need to kill to be complete! I don't have to do it anymore, never again, now that we've left Sigil, and you'll just have to get used to it!" Rekkei seethed in the back of her head, but at least she was relatively quiet. Majandra sighed and sat up. There, rising above the trees in the distance, lay the great city of Neverwinter.

"I'm coming," She whispered as her eyes drank in the grand buildings and towers she could make out from where she was. She estimated that it would be at least another two or three hours before she arrived at the city gates, if Vanwa stayed at his current pace, and then who knows how long until she found the thing that had been calling out to her even from the planes above. "Just wait for me," she could feel the connection getting stronger, the bond that whispered of a balm to her shattered mind and soul. "I'm coming."

Suddenly, Vanwa began snorting irritably, flinging his head from side to side and struggling against her loose grip on the reins. "Whoa, boy," Majandra struggled to get him under control, but it was as though he were being goaded by some unseen force, or maybe- Without warning, a broad headed hunting arrow thudded into her wounded side, eliciting a scream of agony at the pain of her insides being torn apart.

"There she is! That's the monster!" Majandra struggled to remain conscious as hunting horns began blaring from behind her and human voices called out her position. "Take her down! She's the one that destroyed the inn and stole Shadowmere!"

A hail of arrows began raining down upon Majandra and Vanwa, startling the horse out of his agitation and into a gallop towards the distant city. Behind them, the hunters booted their own mounts into a canter, and the chase was on.

Bent as low as possible over Vanwa's neck, Majandra hung on for her very life as the powerful horse leapt ditches and forded streams, each step making her head spin in anguish. Finally, to keep the shaft from moving and harming her any more, Majandra grasped the arrow in one hand and squeezed as hard as she could, weathering the bone shattering pain as only a veteran of war can. The bolt snapped, but the arrowhead inside twisted with the motion, throwing her once more into unconsciousness.

**NWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWN**

_It's too quite…_ Rodger Caim, huntsmen, thought as he guided his mount through the tall grasses and trees with a sure hand, sharp eyes scanning the ground for signs of the monster's passage. He and the men of the nearby farm had been tracking the murderous demon ever since Yoren, one of his mates from the neighboring village, stumbled into town drenched in blood, most of it not his own. The call for arms had been raised, and he, along with a score of other able bodied men had ridden into the woods in search of what Yoren could only describe as a child of the Hells.

Moonlight drifted through the branches of the forest, giving the illusion of a leisurely night ride. Suddenly, the calm was broken as a hunting horn rang out from up ahead, startling Rodger's horse as the forest came alive with frightened animals.

"They've found her!" A fellow huntsmen rode by him, bow unlimbered as he spurred his horse to the chance of a kill ahead. "Come on, man!"

Rodger kicked his horse into a canter and followed, an eager grin stretched upon his own face at the thought of bagging the demon and returning home a hero. He quickly outstripped the other riders and their plains ponies, coming close enough to their quarry that he could see the dark liquid painting the coat of her mount the color of violent death as she passed through beams of moon and starlight.

He was nearly upon her, the group at his heels, when the earth seemingly erupted at their feet, throwing screaming horses and men into the air as monsters clambered from the depths of hell.

"For shame, human," Rodger felt his pants dampen as he was picked up by the leg and hung upside down in the air as though he weighed no more than a child, only to meet a pair of glowing, crimson eyes. "Didn't the bitch that whelped you ever teach you that stalking a woman is wrong?"

Rodger opened his mouth to reply, but his words became a garbled mess of blood and guts as he felt a hand tear through his insides. All around him, he could hear the remnants of the valorous hunting party dying at the hands of hell's hounds themselves, limbs hitting the loamy ground with muted thuds.

"D-demon…" the spark of life in Rodger's eyes faded, and his body was tossed unceremoniously aside.

"They're all dead, Chorwal." A huge, ugly slaad stomped up to the tiefling and dropped a score of heads at his hooved feat. "Any more orders?"

"No," the half-demon shook out his ivory white hair and wiped his hands on his crimson pants. "Our job here is complete. Majandra should arrive in Neverwinter as planned, and our employer should be able to take things from there."

Chorwal watched as his death squad of grey slaadi reentered the portal they had emerged from, and then moved to follow them. _You may have escaped me the first time, Majandra._ He thought as he felt the tendrils of magic propel him through the planes and towards his home and headquarters, Sigil. _But you should have known better. No one escapes Mistress Indara's wrath, and no one evades my grasp for long. Take what time you have and enjoy it, but know you will be mine once again!_

The portal shut with a crack of a filled vacuum, and the forest returned to its previous state. Blood dripped quietly in the moonlight, and animals returned to their business of feeding. The forest was a constant, and not even the presence of human corpses could disrupt that for long.

**NWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWN**

"Do you see her?" Metal and leather creaked as the lookouts, twin brothers shifted on the high walls of Neverwinter, clutching their cloaks to their bodies as they were buffeted by the cutting winds.

"What do you expect? No." The first brother shrugged at the harsh tone and marched to the next torch over. He was used to being the "stupid one" of the two, but tonight all of that would change. Something moved at the edge of the woods, and he leaned closer to the edge, eyes squinting against the glare of the torchlight and moonlight shining on the snowy field that ended at the walls.

"You see that?" he called out to his brother. "Out there, heading towards the Dog Gate!"

"I see it, damn you. Move your ass. We have to get down there to meet her before anyone else sees her." The two had been given explicit orders to take the package inside as soon as it arrived, and to deliver her to their employer's manse in the Black Lake District.

The brothers hastened down the slippery stairs and to the mostly unused Dog Gate on the western wall of the city. Muscles straining, they pulled the rusty gate open just as a black stallion slid to a stop in front of it, withers covered in steaming sweat. Steam billowed from the magnificent horse's nose as he fought to breathe and cool himself down, dancing slightly to keep his unconscious passenger on his back.

It took a few minutes for the brothers to finally calm the stallion and bring him within the walls, and only once the door was closed could they see to the woman draped across the horse's back.

"Bane's blood, a demon!" the first brother cursed when they had her on the ground, horns gleaming in the torchlight.

"Indeed." The twins jumped as footsteps heralded the arrival of their employer. "I trust she's still alive?" the man spoke with the haughtiness of the aristocracy, voice matching his finely tailored clothing and warm fur cloak.

"She's wounded, sir," the "stupid one" replied, "Arrow wound to the side, and it's a heavy bleeder."

The employer snorted irritably, "Fine. Eddard, you know what to do. Wrap up here and deliver her to my mansion posthaste. The priest will be there shortly, and I don't want to keep him waiting."

"Aye, sir." Eddard drew his sword and whirled on his brother, sinking the steel deep into his gut.

"Wha-what the hell? E-Eddard!" His brother choked as blood rushed to his lungs, trickling down the sides of his mouth.

"How does it feel, Ned?" Eddard twisted the blade roughly and grinned with glee as the light in his brother's eyes faded. "Who's the stupid one now!" Silence was his only reply. Chuckling madly to himself, the former twin tied the stallion to a small cart lying nearby and then loaded the woman into it. He left the Dog Gate as he'd found it, but for the bloody ruin that was once his brother lying in the center of the courtyard. But honestly. What was one more body in a city where plague killed hundreds every day?

**NWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWN**

"Duck!" Majandra ducked as ordered, eating dirt as the drill sergeant planted a boot in her back. "Faster! Do you want to get your fucking head taken off by a devil? Get up and do it again!"

Majandra scrambled to her feet as ordered, bruised and beaten body protesting the motion as she raised her sword back into guard position. _It's just a dream._ She told herself as the great sword wavered before her eyes. _Just a dream. I escaped from here, so it's just a dream._

"Duck!" she threw herself down, choking on a groan as she felt a whip lash her back. _Just a dream! Wake up, damn you!_ "Not good enough, my pretty little spawnling. What would Mistress Indara say if she were to see what a disappointment you are?" Tears of frustration trickled down her cheeks, but she forced herself back to her feet. This was the Abyss. Her home, if she really wanted to call the chaotic mess of blood and demons a home.

"She would beat me even worse than you, Chorwal." Majandra replied bitterly, eyes blazing as she lifted the heavy sword once again and settled in a guard position. "Now come. Enough of this farce!" Chorwal's eyes shone in reply, and the air was soon filled with the shriek of steel on steel.

Majandra gave it her all, but she knew where the reoccurring dream would end. It was the same one she'd had ever since Mistress Indara had kidnapped her from her home on the Prime Material Plane, stealing her from her father's dead arms as her hounds destroyed the tiny village that had been their home. She'd been given to Chorwal upon her arrival, for training at first, but that proved to be just another lie in the multitude her Mistress had told her.

A helpless cry escaped her lips as she was disarmed and thrown roughly to the ground, Chorwal's form casting a shadow as he loomed over her. _Wake up! Please, dear gods, wake up!_

"I'm going to make you mine…" he hissed as he slowly lowered himself on top of her, crimson meeting crimson in a hungry glare.

"No!" Majandra struggled, but it was to no avail. "NO!"

**NWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWN**

"No!" Majandra woke with tears of frustration streaking her cheeks, eyes blazing in anger as Rekkei giggled in the back of her head. "Shut up, Rekkei." She muttered, calming herself down as she took stock of her surroundings. She was manacled to the wall of a bedchamber; arms stretched high to the sides of her head with a larger band of iron keeping her body pressed against the marble.

A fresh bandage was wrapped around her waist, calming her further in the knowledge that though she may be a prisoner, whoever had caught her was trying to make a good impression. They wanted something from her.

In the back of her head, she could feel the presence that had drawn her to Neverwinter was even closer than before. "Where am I?"

"The Black Lake District of Neverwinter," a smooth voice said from the doorway directly across from her, and she raised her head to see a man garbed in the robes of a cleric of Helm. "Welcome, Majandra Damar."

"So you know who I am," Majandra said casually, relaxing into the wall as though it were the most comfortable thing she'd ever touched. Quite frankly, compared to some of the real horrors she'd faced, this oh-so-terrifying cleric could have done better. "Who the hell are you?"

"No questions!" The man snapped, lightning lancing through her body at his words.

_Not too creative,_ Rekkei noted thoughtfully as Majandra forced a grin onto her face from the pitiful attempt at torture. _But I'll give him points for the attempt at intimidation. What's next, I wonder? A scary accomplice with a whip? Oh, my, this is simply too much!_

The "torture" ended as abruptly as it began, and Majandra let her smile widen, revealing sharp fangs. Two could play at this game. "Understood…sir." She resettled herself, wincing slightly at the tender wound on her side as it brushed the ring around her waist.

The cleric grunted and stared at her for a moment, empty eyes drinking in the fey'ri's exotic features. "Why have you come to Neverwinter?" he asked, forehead wrinkling all the way to his balding scalp. _I would love to take it, wouldn't you?_ Rekkei giggled, referencing the cleric's graying head. "Consider your words carefully, demon. The geas I have put on you is one of the most unpleasant, as I would love to show you. Tell me what I want, and you won't experience it."

_Geas?_ Majandra thought simultaneously with Rekkei, an uncommon occurrence. Her respect for the man increased slightly. _Damn, looks like the game is over._

"I'm looking for something," Majandra replied seriously, tail curling around her waist as she spoke. The way they'd tied her up left her nearly sitting on her tail, something that hurt far more than the lightning had. Her tail was ultra-sensitive, a fact she tried to keep as hidden as possible from everyone.

"What is it?"

"I don't know," she replied with a shrug. "I was hoping to find it on my own time, but it looks like that's not going to happen."

"Indeed it's not. Meldanen!" The door to the room opened, revealing a short man with curly black hair on his face and head. He was dressed richly and in dark robes, the mark of a successful sorcerer.

"Yes, Desther?" the sorcerer replied, bowing slightly. Majandra's eyes narrowed slightly at the two men. Since when did cleric's work with sorcerers, much less black robes?

"What is the status of our army?" Desther demanded. "They must be ready soon, now that we have our general."

_Bet you thought you'd never hear those words again, didn't you?_ Rekkei cackled as Majandra's entire body tensed at the word general. The only thing she wanted to avoid more than battle was leading others into it.

"They will be ready in two months." Meldanen replied assuredly, hands settling in his sleeves as he spoke. "The goblins have been…troublesome, to say the least, and many of the men have refused to work with them. There have been murders, but my sergeants have managed to tame them to a degree. Yes, two months should be enough time."

"Good." Desther grunted, turning back to Majandra. "Now, what am I going to do with you for the next two months, hmm?"

"Well," Majandra replied, "It's not like I can escape you, what with the geas you've placed on me. Let me get to know the city, especially if I'm going to be leading some kind of army against it."

"Not the city, fool," Meldanen glared at her, and she met his eyes neutrally. "The Academy of Heroes is our target."

"Why?" Majandra asked, forgetting the earlier command. The pain wasn't as bad this time, and she barely flinched.

"You will be briefed later." Desther replied, clapping his hands. The manacles fell off her instantly, and she rose to her feet with a full body stretch. "For now, the streets are yours. Be wary of what you say and do, for your actions will always come back to my ears."

"Of course," Majandra's tail lashed as she cracked her shoulders. "I know, the geas. Where are my weapons?"

Meldanen gestured and a chest appeared. "Your artifacts interest me, demon. Where are they from? I may demand to study them."

"They're from places you would seek death before seeing," Majandra replied as she buckled her wakizashi about her waist and clipped the collapsible pole arm to the sword belt. "Demand all you like, but the only way you're touching these will be taking them from my cold, dead hands." She raised her eyes to meet his, letting the crimson cat's eyes glow to show just how serious she was.

"Enough posturing." Desther interrupted the tense situation, to Meldanen's relief. "Do as you will, Demon, though be ready to come to my side when I give word."

"As you say, Master." Majandra bowed and invoked her power, disappearing from their sight with a crack of displaced air.

She reappeared on top of the house, leaning against the tiles as she looked out over the city. _Where are you? _She wondered, eyes drinking in the magnificent buildings. It would have been a very pretty night, but for the screams of the dying. _Are you waiting for me as well?_

She stood like that for a while, musing, and then leapt from the roof to the ground below, passage unnoticed but for the ravens roosting and rats scurrying.

**NWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWN**

Aribeth awoke in bed with a start, chest heaving as she fought to calm herself. _It's arrived._ She thought to herself as she rolled out of bed and strolled to the window, opening it wide to let in the cool, predawn breeze. _May Tyr protect his children, it's arrived._ She lifted her face, letting the air cool the sweat from her skin.

"Ari?" Fenthick murmured sleepily as he rolled over in bed and found her missing, "What's wrong? The sun has barely reached the horizon."

"Nothing." Aribeth replied, climbing back into bed and her fiancé's arms. "Go back to sleep, my love." She settled herself, Fenthick's easy breathing calming her racing heart, but not her thoughts. _Will you be the one?_

**A/N:** (Stretches) Ah, now THAT felt good! Chapter two of the redo complete! Hah, if only I can find the motivation to do the next few… oh wait, I know! Reviews! Please do it.


	3. Raining Women?

**A/N: **Alright, hooray for chapter three. Slightly shorter than the last, and somewhat filler-esque, but oh well... Let's go! Btw, this one is dedicated to Ray venn Hakubi for being one cool person.

Kaia Moonchild 

_**Neverwinter streets…**_

_I should've picked a different city to become obsessed with…_ Majandra thought to herself as she observed the lethargic people moving around below her seat on the dome of the Halls of Justice. _Probably be a lot more interesting without all the dead people._

In the month and a half since leaving Desther and Meldanen to do whatever it was they were doing, Majandra had learned more about Neverwinter than she imagined she needed to.

She knew the best whorehouses from her time spent in the Docks District cracking the wrists of petty thieves and avoiding roaming bands of land bound sailors. Their alcohol was the strongest available, she found, and it was easy for her to sit in the corner of a bar unmolested as she sought to forget the memories that plagued her sleep, then simply rent a room for the night. More often than not, the Docks were where she stayed when she didn't have anywhere else to go at night, or refused for another second to sleep in one of the dirty alleyways of the Core.

Not that the Core was a bad place to be, compared to the rest of the city. She knew the best place to get a drink and a bit of gossip, as well as who the best mercenaries were of the bunch that stayed at the Trade of Blades only a block away from where she sat. It was harder to navigate the inner city district, especially because of laws requiring that all patrons have bare heads while out and about. She found that a couple of well-placed hair ties hid her horns from sight. Her tail was never a problem, since the extra limb was easy to conceal amongst her belts and clothes.

She learned to avoid the Beggar's district like, well, the plague, after spending a worthless evening fending off rabid dogs as she scouted out the Academy of Heroes. The district was the home of the poorest of the poor, as well as the over flowing cemetery where the dead were placed. The air was constantly filled with the screams of those too ill or poor to leave, and certainly a hive for catching the disease. She thanked her demonic blood, for once, for rendering her immune to most mortal illnesses.

The Black Lake District would be the first she burned after fulfilling her duties, if only because of the way they lived their lives all but obliviously to the suffering of their fellow citizens beyond their pair of guarded gates. The headquarters of Desther and Meldanen's plan was almost as disgusting as the Beggar's District to Majandra's senses, and she avoided that place as well.

_Gonna keep day dreaming?_ Rekkei demanded acidly, voice grating on Majandra's mind. _I'm bored. Do something. Kill something._

Majandra picked up a piece of tile and chucked it at a pigeon sitting a little ways down from her, killing the bird instantly and knocking it to the ground far below. "Happy?" she replied curtly, lying back against the sun-warmed stones and closing her eyes. She had to admit, though, she was a little bored too.

_Do it again!_ Rekkei squealed like a gleeful, bloodthirsty child. _Do it again, Demon girl!_

"No, damn it." Majandra growled, running the claws in her knuckles across the tiles and making a song with the tinkle they created. "Can't you do something else?" Almost immediately, Rekkei began singing one of her off color ditties, filling Majandra's head with the singsong, childish voice.

"Oh, shut up, will you?" She rolled off the side of the building and free fell into the alley beside it, startling a toothless old man as he looked up from grubbing in the trash. "Sorry, grandfather." She muttered as she walked by him and into the shiny Core.

Besides scouting out her new home, Majandra had used her oh-so-free time to look for _it_. Unfortunately, it seemed the gods were playing with her, because the bond seemed to have gone haywire the moment she set foot in the city. First it would be in the Core, then the Beggar's District, then back in the Core, and so on and so forth. Some days, she despaired of finding the thing, and this was just another of those days.

Her stomach grumbling reminded Majandra that she had yet to eat that day, and so, with that in mind, she made her way to the Trade of Blades.

**NWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNWNW**

"Ari, are you listening to me? Aribeth!" Aribeth jerked herself away from her idle thoughts and refocused on Fenthick, who had long since grown bored of the silence at the table while he ate his food and she stared at hers. "What's going on with you, lately? You can't seem to pay attention to anything, and others have noticed. Think of our reputations!"

Aribeth nodded in understanding and placed her fork beside her plate. "My apologies, Fenthick," she replied, stifling a yawn. "I haven't been sleeping well, of late." Truthfully, she hadn't slept more than an hour or so since that night a month or so ago when she was awakened by _it_ coming into her city. Since then, she'd felt like she was going insane, feeling whatever was attached to the other end of the bond bouncing from district to district.

"Well, try to stay awake for the next couple of hours," Fenthick muttered, shoving his plate aside and stomping to the door of their private chambers. "Lord Nasher expects us to attend him within the hour when he formally invites Desther's church into Neverwinter." He swept out without waiting for her response, an act that was becoming more common every other day.

"As you say, my love," Aribeth spoke to the empty room, sighing as she rose to put the dishes aside for the maid. Once the table was straightened up, she quickly donned her court clothes -a crème colored tunic with green trim to bring out her eyes, pale green breeches, and doeskin ankle boots- and left the room, taking the spiraling stairs to the main entrance of the Halls of Justice. Both she and Fenthick were entitled to rooms in Castle Never, but chose to live in the Halls for various reasons, accessibility to their people being one of them.

Nodding to the cleric's going about their business, Aribeth exited the large chamber and stepped out into the brightness of the city Core. Had the screams of the dying not been ringing in her ears, the city would have looked as it would on any other sunny day.

Suddenly, the bond flared, and she whirled about in time to see something fall in her peripheral vision. _Could it be?_ She hastened across the square to the alleyway, only to be greeted by an old man staring at the brick wall that ended the passage.

"Are you alright, sir?" she asked, senses still straining to find what she was searching for. The bond had gone back to jumping around, and her shoulders sagged with the knowledge that she'd been so close. "If you have need for anything, the Halls are open to you."

"Need anything?" the man cackled with what he figured to be a toothy grin. "What need a man when women fall from the skies and land at his feet? Anything indeed!"

Aribeth bowed perfunctorily and left the man to his laughter, a perplexed expression on her face. _Women falling from the sky? Perhaps I should have Mikhail send some of his men to check on the food and water supply…_ The strange encounter followed her into the castle and through the throne room doors before she managed to bring her thoughts back to the task at hand.

"Milady Aribeth," the guardsmen bowed to her as she entered the grandiose chamber, silver armor clinking in her wake.

"Lady Aribeth," Lord Nasher sat his high seat like a man holding onto his last lifeline, rough features pale and sallow with illness. He'd been one of the first outside the Beggar's District to catch the Wailing Death after the quarantine, proof that the plague was spreading by more than human touch. "I'm glad you could join us." Fenthick shot her a quick glare for being late before schooling his features back into Boy Scout perfection.

"I'm sorry, my Lord," Aribeth bowed before continuing up the dais to stand before her lover and her lord. "One of the citizens reported a strange occurrence, and I felt it fit to question him."

"Strange occurrence?" Fenthick echoed, a slight frown marring his perfect features. "What happened?"

"He said he saw a woman," she hesitated slightly at Nasher's slightly spaced expression. "He saw a woman fall from the sky." She finished.

"We've had a few such reports," Nasher stated, shocking the lady paladin. "Word has been reaching Aarin's ears about strange sightings of a shadow lurking about the city. Hallucinations from dying minds, I say."

"And I wasn't informed?" Aribeth asked calmly, though she felt a flash of anger. It was just another tiny omission in a string of omissions that made her feel as though she were slowly being pushed out of the boy's club of Neverwintian hierarchy.

"We didn't feel it was important enough to burden you with its knowledge, my dear." Fenthick replied sweetly, giving her the gentle smile she'd fallen for since the start. "You have enough on your plate as it is."

"Indeed she does!" The three turned to the entryway as a new presence entered the hall. "One of the reasons why I'm glad my brethren and I are being officially recognized. We can help ease your load, my Lady." Desther, High Watcher of Helm, strode into the room confidently, resplendent in his red and black vestments of faith.

"Welcome, Lord Watcher," Lord Nasher bowed his head weakly. It was surprising that the old man, made even older by the debilitating plague, had lasted as long as he had without an army of attendants surrounding him as they did in his bedchambers.

"Brother," Aribeth watched as Fenthick descended the dais to clasp arms with the other cleric. He personally greeted a member of a rival church and not his own fiancé? But again, she knew she would never bring up the slight. Maybe when times were better….

The investment ceremony was brief due to Nasher's fading stamina, and the cleric's quickly took their leave to oversee some of their people in other districts, leaving Aribeth to return to the Beggar's District and her academy alone. _Perhaps I'll stay there for a while,_ the lady paladin mused as she and her escort made their way through the disaster zone. _It seems I am not needed in the Core, and the other districts are fine on their own, as of now._

She nodded to the student-soldiers posted at the gates to her brainchild as they waved her into the compound, feeling the weight of responsibility lighten as she entered her comfort zone.

"My Lady! My Lady!" she straightened up as a human boy, surely no older than fifteen, came charging out of the main building with an overlarge sword strapped to his back. "Kaerion Galadorn has arrived!"

For the first time in weeks, an honest smile played across her lips. _Hope._ She thought. _Hope at last._

**A/N:** So I managed to do two in a single day. Hooray. Honestly people, what's wrong with a little review? Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Next one should be up soon as well.


	4. I Will Come for You

**Author's Note:** ah…. Yeah, updating this year has not been my forte… Thanks to those of you reading and/or reviewing the rewritten chapters! Chapter Four and more to come!

Kaia Moonchild 

_**Neverwinter Academy…**_

"…And this is where those of our martial minded students train," Aribeth stopped at the entrance and gestured to the open hall, heart bursting with pride for her hardworking students as they paused in their exercises to salute her and her esteemed guest.

"You have a great set up here, Milady Aribeth," Kaerion Galadorn said politely, watching with an appreciative eye as two half-elves–one as dark as the other was fair—sparred with each other with live weapons, sword and staff clashing together with quick, efficient strokes. "Do all of your students have skills like those two?"

"Shade and Saria are two of our most competent students," Aribeth replied, leading Kaerion along the edge of the room so they wouldn't disrupt the atmosphere excessively. "But, most of the rest--besides our newest members, of course—are equally able, if of lesser skill."

"I see," the paladin of Lathander plodded along behind her like a golem in his heavy plate mail, greatsword clanging against the back of his thighs with every step. "What are my duties to be, then, Milady? It seems to me that you have some of the best instructors gold can buy training your future adventurers right here."

"Be that as it may," Aribeth paused so Kaerion could see the Arcane Magic training area before continuing onwards. "The students here don't have anyone they can call a real leader. That's why I want you to begin training them in group combat strategies. They've got to come to understand that they won't be aiding Neverwinter individually, but in teams of four or five people with different specialties." They walked by the dimly lit Rogue training hall and continued on to the Divine Magic lecture hall to observe clerics in training healing injured classmates and turning summoned skeletons and the like. "You will pick three other students to be part of your unit and begin the new class after the midday meal."

"As you will, Lady Aribeth," Kaerion tapped his gauntleted hand over his heart in salute. "Now, where should I stow my gear? Where will I be sleeping?"

_Idiot!_ Aribeth mentally berated herself. "The dorm rooms are back the way we came, just before the Fighters' training hall. I'm afraid I have other duties to attend to, but if you'll direct your questions to one of the students, I'm sure they can aid you. Farewell, Kaerion."

"Farewell, Milady," Kaerion bowed and watched as Aribeth collected her squire and headed towards the entrance to the school. _Now,_ he thought, retracing his steps back to the Fighters' Hall. _Who to ask?_ His gaze fell on the two half-elves from before and a grin stretched across his handsome, rugged features. "Shade! Saria! Can you spare me a moment?"

* * *

"_So as you shiver in the cold and the dark,_

_Look into the fire and see in its spark—_

_My eye_

_Watching over you_

_As you walk in the wind's whistling claws,_

_Listen past the howling of the wolf's jaws._

_My song_

_Comes to you_

_And when you're lost in the trackless snow,_

_Look up high where the eagles go._

_My star_

_Shines for you_

_In deep, dark mine or on crumbling peak,_

_Hear the words of love I speak._

_My thoughts_

_Are with you_

_You are not forsaken_

_You are not forgotten._

_The north cannot swallow you,_

_The snows cannot bury you._

_I will come for you._

_Faerün will grow warmer,_

_And the gods will smile_

_But oh, my love, guard yourself well—_

_All this may not happen for a long, long while_

Majandra tapped her foot in time to the legato beat as Sharwyn, the fiery haired—and tempered—bard strummed her lute in the final bars of one of the Sword Coasts' traditional ballads and then bowed to the crowd filling the Trade of Blades tavern to the brim, reveling in the appreciative applause. _Fey-touched,_ Rekkei snarled as the bard sauntered past Majandra's table near the back of the room and close to the exit, hips swinging seductively. _That bard must be touched to produce something as…wonderful as that._

"Rekkei, you sound almost…sane," Majandra chuckled into her ale to mask the movement of her lips, eyes following Sharwyn as she joined her group of friends, a tough bunch of mercenaries, in a private dining room partitioned off from the main common room. "Must be going soft amongst all the non-evils!"

_Shut up, you bleating goat's whelp!_ Rekkei screeched in reply. Majandra tuned out the cursing in the back of her mind with practiced ease, downing the rest of her drink in one gulp before dropping a coin on the table and walking out into the golden afternoon. Desther's voice had been screaming in the back of her head for an hour now, but she'd ignored the summons in favor of finishing her meal and listening to the bard sing.

"COME TO ME!" Majandra's world went white as pain knifed through her head, Desther's voice exponentially louder then before as he screamed in her head. "RETURN AT ONCE!"

"Oi, you okay, lady?" Majandra felt a strong, steady hand lifting her to her feet before she even realized she'd fallen.

"Fine." She replied, staggering out of his grasp. "Too much ale."

"As you will, my Lady," a deeper voice responded, and she opened her eyes to see a tiny Halfling and a gigantic half-orc that she recognized as part of Sharwyn's group from the Trade of Blades. "Do you perhaps require aid in reaching your next destination? I am Daelan of the Redtiger clan, and it would be my pleasure to escort you without a fee."

"An' I'm Tomi Undergallows!" the Halfling struck a jaunty pose and winked, faltering a bit when he didn't get a reaction. _Damn, Boddyknock told me the ladies couldn't resist the "Tiny Man Power Pose!"_ "Eh, but yeh kin call me Tomi like everyone else, I s'pose…" Tomi finished weakly, hiding his slight form behind Daelan's massive presence.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Majandra replied shortly, dismissing the two mercenaries as she turned her back on them and stalked away, heading towards the nearest alleyway. She'd barely made it to the gaudily decorated Moonstone Mask when Desther's voice sent her stumbling into the wall opposite the palisade of the inner Core. _This is my spot, you stupid old man fart!_ Rekkei screeched in retaliation, eliciting a slight smile from Majandra as she paused to collect herself before unsheathing her claws and leaping onto the grimy wall. Chips of stone fell in her wake as she made her way to the equally gaudy roof of the "pleasure house." The teleportation ability? Not only was it short range in her current weakened state, it was just a show to frighten Desther and his cronies, and give their plans for her an element of instability.

_They obviously weren't scared of you before, now were they, runt?_ Rekkei sniped, eliciting a pained hiss from Majandra as she pulled herself over the gutter onto the arched roof, claws scraping on the tile until she made it to the flat ceiling. Desther's repeated summons had hammered her mental shielding paper thin, granting Rekkei more freedom of speech than usual. Any more, and Majandra would find her consciousness taking a long, forced nap whilst Rekkei painted the town red. Literally.

"They should be afraid," Majandra shot back, leaping to the next building and landing on all fours with cat-like grace as she ducked to avoid any casual glances up, unlikely as they were. The people of Neverwinter's eyes seemed to be rooted to the ground in fear and despair.

Suddenly, just as Majandra was gearing up for another cross-alley jump on her northbound journey to the Blacklake district, she felt another tugging at her soul. She looked down into the street, and, for a split second, her eyes gazed upon the most incredibly piercing emerald green orbs she'd ever seen in her life. The almond shape eyes seemed to gaze straight into her soul, judging her past, present, and future, and finding her wanting. Yet they also held a kind of…reverence almost, as though their owner felt the same tug within that Majandra was feeling.

_Mine?_ Those eyes seemed to whisper, questioning.

_Yours!_ Majandra felt as though her soul were screaming out, straining to reach and soothe the sadness ingrained in those portals to the forest. _Forever yours!_

A thousand lifetimes later, Majandra fell back, head reeling as she was released from the eyes' gaze. "Woah," Was all she could utter as she felt herself returning to normal function. "What in blazes was _that_?"

* * *

"Milady? Milady? Milady Aribeth, are you well?" Aribeth shook her head and found herself staring into the worried, pale face of her young squire, Pavel son of Palin. "Are you alright?" he repeated as Aribeth reoriented herself.

"I'm fine, Pavel," she replied finally, eyes refocusing. "Come, let us continue to the refectory for lunch, shall we?"

"Uh, of course, milady." Pavel stumbled along clumsily as they continued the short trek to the Halls of Justice.

_Was that it?_ Aribeth mused as she made her way on autopilot, nodding absently to the patrolmen who saluted her and people calling out her name. _Is that what I've been searching for all this time?_

"Um, Milady?" Pavel interrupted her thoughts hesitantly. "May I ask a question?"

"Go ahead," Aribeth replied, sighing internally. Three years in her service, and Pavel had yet to drop the overly formal manner he wore whenever in her presence.

"W-was," he stuttered, "was it a vision? What happened just now?"

"I," Aribeth hesitated, unsure of how to respond when she herself had yet to understand exactly what she had just experienced. "It was more of a…meeting… I'd say. Honestly, I'm not quite sure how to describe it, Pavel. Perhaps I will seek guidance from our Lord when we return."

"Thank you for answering my question," Pavel bowed hurriedly, unaware of the wagon coming around the corner just as he did so.

**FWAP!** Aribeth winced as Pavel rose from the bow and stumbled right into the wagon's side, managing to shock the mule pulling it into rearing, overturning the wagon and throwing it's driver to the ground.

"Tyr grant me strength…" Aribeth muttered as she plastered a smile to her face and moved to help Pavel out of yet another mess.

* * *

"What took you so long?!" **Slap!** "Hmm? I've been summoning you for hours!" **Slap!** Majandra took the strikes stoically as Desther vented his rage on her body.

"Calm down, Desther," Fenthick murmured idly from his position by the window. The slim man wore a pensive expression as he stared out into the serene streets of the Blacklake district. "An extra hour or two is meaningless in the long run. The Mistress demands the plan be put into motion tonight, as the sun sets." His eyes flashed reptilian yellow and then faded back to a dull hazel, eliciting shivers from all in the small chamber.

_Possession?_ Majandra wondered as she rose to her feet and leaned up against the wall, content with being ignored for the moment. _Rekkei, do you sense the presence of Tanar'ri or Baatezu? I don't._

_It's…different._ Her alter ego replied a moment later, hesitatingly. Majandra simply nodded, watching the elf surreptitiously as he, Meldanen, and Desther conferred over a map of the Academy, deliberating over the placement of troops and traps for the coming hours.

"Majandra." Meldanen gestured for her to come over and she did as she was bid, bowing slightly as the circle of men parted for her to have a clearer view of the battle plans. "Though you will ultimately be in command of our infiltration forces, it has been decided that you will enter the Academy alone through a different route. Your mission will be to isolate Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande in her study and kill her."

"How are you so sure she will be there?" Majandra replied, easing into the role of a commander despite her prior reservation. "If she's as able as you say she is, won't she head straight for whatever it is she's hiding in that school of hers? That aside, she'll definitely have a unit of protectors with her regardless." Desther had hinted of an ulterior motive to attacking, but she hadn't been enlightened as of yet.

"No she won't." Fenthick replied confidently. "Aribeth delegates, and never sends men to do what she herself won't do. She'll choose to go alone and recover whatever important documents she has in her study, purposefully drawing the stronger opponents after her so her students have a chance of survival. She also has a strong paladin at her disposal, one I believe she'll trust to defend the objects we're interested in."

"I see." Majandra replied, eyes narrowing suspiciously. _How does he know so much about this Aribeth woman? Who is he?_ "That said, aren't we falling right into her trap by sending me alone? What about the units you previously assigned to me?"

"She'll be expecting orcs or the like after dealing with goblins and humans for the most part," Desther replied, eyes burning with intensity as he envisioned the bloodbath-to-be. "Not an immortal assassin of your caliber. As for your troops, they will be part of the diversionary forces dealing with the students. We've already seen about replacing key faculty members with our own agents, so the rout should be quick and clean after the first initial resistance is defeated."

"If that's all you wanted to know, I'd like to move on," Meldanen, the strategist, interceded firmly before Desther could get any farther in the beginning of another bloodthirsty rant. "This, Majandra, will be your entry point into the Academy," a blue light sprang up around a window on the blueprint of the school, highlighting its proximity to the outer wall of the Beggar's District. "After you've entered the hallway, you'll find a staircase leading up down the hall to your right." As he spoke, a line of blue magic mimicked his words, outlining the path she was to follow. "Once you've gone up two flights, leave the stairway and begin making your way down the hall to the left through the primary dorm and refectory area. Now, you have two options once you've reached this area. You can either climb the walls to the rafters and travel that way, or you can use this," he handed her a small black gem about the size of her eye, "and create an illusion about yourself so you will blend in with the other students. We're giving you a twenty-minute grace period before we attack, so, depending upon how you use your time and for fast you're going, you may be able to make it there before the students are alerted to your arrival. If you're caught, kill all witnesses."

"That's one of the few requirements we have for you," Fenthick added. "Don't be seen, don't be caught, and don't be killed."

"Simple enough." Majandra nodded shortly. "Anything else you require of me?"

The three men shared a look before Meldanen responded. "No, that will be all. You have three hours to prepare before we move out, and I recommend you visit our arms masters to make sure you're well equipped."

"Right, will do. We, though? I was under the impression you three would be staying behind."

"Desther and I will be present during the attack," Fenthick replied. "Meldanen will remain here to coordinate the raiding squads and oversee the battlemap. Is that all?"

"Yes, sir," Majandra bowed slightly and retreated from the room, leaving the men to talk amongst themselves.

_It's neither Baatezu nor Tanar'ri, Runt,_ Rekkei spoke up for the first time in nearly two hours, the intrusion into her thoughts causing Majandra to stumble. _Something…more. Bigger, yet smaller. Older, yet…new?_

"Knowing what it isn't is all well and good," Majandra muttered, scowling at a goblin soldier that dared look up at her as she passed it on the way to the room she'd been issued. "But do you have any idea what it COULD be? I'm not going to be the pawn of any bloody god war, or the like." She shuddered, body feeling as though it'd been drenched in icy cold water at the thought of her past mistress. "Not after…_her._"

_Whatever._ Rekkei's voice lost its sanity and picked up a shrill, mad edge. _We're fighting again! War, bloodshed, violence, sanguine glory!_

_And once again, I'm one ace shy of a full deck…_ Majandra mused amusedly as she kicked open her door and entered the spartan room. A bed in the corner, a footlocker, and a desk underneath a barred window were the only comforts to be had. Not that she needed much more, really, for a place she'd spent maybe one week of eight in. Sighing internally, the fey'ri unsheathed her wakizashi and laid them out on the desk, followed by the collapsible spear she used during aerial combat, once upon a time when she had wings. Added to the weaponry was the sack of healing potions she carried at all times, a whetstone, two rings—spell resistance and minor regeneration, and an amulet that silenced her steps and dispelled her shadow.

"May as well get ready, then…" heaving a heavy sigh of resignation, Majandra picked up her first blade and immersed herself in the whisking sound of the whetstone on steel, soothing her mind in preparation for the mindless bloodshed to come.

**A/N:** So this chapter is finally done! (you have Hakubi to thank for this one) the next chapter? eh...let's say this year and it'll be a surprise! oh, and tf? I hope you like where Saria is going :) Cookie for the person who knows where Sharwyn's song came from. Neverwinter, yes, but you have to name the book. That's two hints! RR people, and a new chapter may be up before you expect!

Ja!


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